Fatal Flaw
by MoonlightMystery13.3
Summary: It's not just one mistake. It's a series of them. And Donald wonders exactly which one was fatal, which one broke everything he valued. T for angst. Thanks for R&Ring. Written because Donald seems to explode when angry, and I could easily see something like this happening.


A/N: Hello, all! I spent most of the morning working on this one-shot that just popped in and took for my head for a bit. It's really sad, but I'm pretty sure it really quite good. I'll shut up and let you read. :)

Episode: None, but probably before Bionic Island, or even when Douglas comes to live with them.

Rating: T, prolly

Warnings: Angst

Inspiration: This is going to be a drabble. Just a drabble. Bree had run off, and Donald and Chase got into a fight. Then this happened.

 **Be the reason someone smiles today! :)** And I'd love, love, love, to know what people think of this one.

* * *

Donald Davenport has always reached for the stars. He's gone further than anyone else has, been willing to risk more than anyone else to see it pay off. Donald is no stranger to bluffing, to gambling all he has to win more, to playing with fire. And if he's a trifle controlling after his gambling, well. Maybe he's just looking for a little stability.

:LR:

Bree is standing, arms crossed, trying to hide the tears brimming in her eyes. Donald knows he's being harsh, but Bree needs to hear this. She hadn't gotten the last mission alert, because she'd been at a party, one too loud of hear herself think, much less her phone alarm. They could have died, Adam nearly had.

Chase is standing beside Bree. He had begun neutrally, on the sidelines, but as Donald's lecture had worn on, gotten biting, he had moved. Chase stood with one of his shoulders pressed to one of hers, supporting her, arms crossed. His hazel eyes flashed. /Back off/, they said.

But Donald doesn't, and the whole thing ends in one of the worst shouting matches the household had ever heard. Bree eventually storms away, tears finally flowing, furiously down her cheeks, after screaming that if he's going to be like that, then maybe she'll just leave.

Donald tries to reassure himself, that he'd had a good point, that Bree had needed to hear it, harsh as it had been, had to understand the stakes. She could have gotten her brother killed, she had to understand that. But the guilt that had already been clear in her face before he'd said a word, and the disappointment in Chase's eyes as he followed his sister away wouldn't let Donald quite believe himself.

:LR:

It's about a week later, and the house is in chaos. After the strained days upon days of avoidance, tension, and a couple more, briefer shouting matches, Bree simply disappears. She'd disconnected her GPS, and, without the notes she'd left for everyone explaining why she'd run, she was gone without a trace.

Donald, caught up in the stress, demands to see everyone's notes, trying to find where she'd gone. Tasha and Leo exchange looks, and, slightly grudgingly, hand them over. Chase and Adam cooly decline. It's the last straw, and Donald turns on them, demanding, yelling, borderline threatens. He's never quite lost control like that, and while there's shock in their eyes, they don't really react.

Adam does nothing but stand beside Chase, usually warm brown eyes troubled, arms folded. It's Chase who does the talking, and he calmly, effectively argues against the screaming Donald. Their notes are personal, for them. Donald has no right to demand to see them. It's like watching fire fight ice, and plenty of steam flies.

It's only when Donald gets out through ground teeth, "I'm your father, I have every right," that Chase shows any emotion at all. A slightly bitter smile creeps onto his face. It looks wrong there, and what's worse, it's natural enough to not be a new addition.

"Really?" He asks, head tilted slightly to one side. "I thought that was Douglas."

This simple, calculated sentence stuns the whole room into silence. Donald can only stare.

Chase goes on. "We never called you Dad, and there's a reason for that. It's because you're not our father, you're our leader. You shaped us, sure, into the heroes we are. You trained us. We looked up to you. But you didn't raise us, not really. You always had somewhere else to be, because there was money to be made there. You weren't the one to hold me after I fell off the climbing wall, to make the bruises better. Bree did that for me. You weren't the one to chase the monster out of my capsule before I went to sleep. Adam did that. They raised me. And they raised each other, because we didn't have anyone else. So you can't treat us like experiments and then expect us to be your children. You can't race off without a thought to whatever, and then expect us to come running when you snap your fingers." He clears his throat, looking Donald in the eye. "I care about you. I respect you. I'm sorry it's come to this. But you have never been my father."

Donald forgets to breathe, and it's like the whole world is frozen, all except Adam and Chase, who quietly exit the room. Donald is hurt, of course he is. But he's never been very good at dealing with emotions, working through them in a healthy manner. So the hurt just gets transformed into anger, something he can understand, and work with.

And it grows.

:LR:

It's the next afternoon, and Donald walks into the lab to find Adam and Chase talking, quietly. It clear that they've put their differences aside, that they've gotten past their facade of insults and not caring. There hasn't been a short joke or a dumb joke in days. Somewhere within, Donald feels a tiny flare of pride, at how well they're working together. But it's swiftly crushed under the weight of the hurt, and anger, and frustration burning inside him. Those emotions only swell when Adam and Chase immediately fall silent upon noticing his entrance.

"Adam," Donald snaps, angrier than he'd meant to. "Out. Now."

Adam doesn't move an inch, except to shift slightly closer to his younger brother. Protectively, Donald realizes, and for some reason, and only make him angrier. Adam wouldn't, shouldn't, need to protect Chase from _him._ It hurts, and Donald isn't good with hurt.

It's only when Chase sighs, slightly resigned, and nudges Adam, muttering, "It's fine, I'll meet you in a minute," that Adam gets up. His movements are careful and deliberate, none of the usual thoughtless, fun loving son Donald loved is discernable in them. He's jolted by the realization, and his words contain more venom than he'd intended.

"Use your app. Bring her back," he demands. "Now."

There's no surprise in Chase's eyes, no questions. Chase has probably been waiting for this, even though Donald only thought of it several hours before. No, there's no surprise, only disappointment.

"No," he says, quietly, folding his arms. "She made a choice, and it's not up to me to take it back."

"No?" Donald responds, in the tone that makes his underlings at Davenport Industries scurry away and dive for cover. "I don't think I heard you right."

Chase is unaffected by it. He's either very brave, very stupid, or a combination thereof. Donald supposes he shouldn't feel any surprise at that; Chase is a hero, juggling three lives at a time. He's made of sterner stuff than most. Again, usually, it would be impressive. Right now, it's infuriating.

Chase shakes his head. "This isn't what my override app is for," he said, calmly, undaunted. "I have it in order to help my team, to get them out of dangerous situations where they don't know what to do. It's not so that you can force us to do what you want. You don't own us."

Chase starts to walk out, but Donald grabs his arm. He feels betrayed, along with his cascade of anger and hurt. And blindly, he strikes back.

"I can't believe you would be this to me," He spits. "I thought you, at least, understood me. I thought you were like me."

Pain rises in Chase's eyes for the first time, but he only shakes his head. "I do understand you," he says, quietly. "And I believed you were better than this. That's the only reason… I wanted to give you another chance. But I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"

His eyes harden, and he steps deliberately into Donald's space. "I used to want to be like you. I used to think the world of you. But now, I see exactly what kind of person you are, and I'm glad that we won't be around longer."

With that, Chase shoots a look of pure contempt at him, and walks away. His footsteps echo, until the door slams and shuts Donald off from them.

Donald stands, shellshocked. He feels like someone has thrown a vat of ice water over him. Cold radiates from his core, his hands are shaking, and he feels like himself for the first time in a week.

Finally, he has come back to Earth. Late. Donald is used to being late; when one is as rich as he is, the event starts when he gets there. But this is one time that all his money won't do anything to smooth his tardiness over.

:LR:

The next day, Donald leaves the house early. He's supposed to be overseeing the opening operations of a new location for Davenport Industries. But his mind and heart are still at home, and as he absently nods along to whatever his guide is telling him, he's trying to think of some way to apologize, to fix this mess that he's made. It's only shortly after lunchtime when his executives finally get tired of his less than productive contributions of "Um-hm," and "Ah, yes," and politely give him the boot. He feels a twinge of guilt, and promises himself that he'll make it up to them, and hops on his private jet home. He still doesn't really have a plan, but Donald knows he's going to have a lot of explaining to do when he gets home. He pulls out his phone, and opens a text to his youngest. "We should talk," he texts Chase. "I'm on my way, could be with you in twenty." He winces, almost as he hits send. He should have said more, apologized right away, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

His text is answered almost immediately. "20 minutes, then. We're in the front room."

Donald nods, and resolves to use these 20 minutes wisely. By the time he gets home, he vows, he'll have something to say.

:LR:

Donald opens the door to find Tasha speaking earnestly to Chase, and Leo and Adam having a staring match. They all turn to see him come in, and Donald notices that Adam and Chase are both in mission suits, gear bags sitting on the floor beside him. But there isn't the sense of urgency that accompanies a mission in the air around them, and Donald's phone certainly didn't register a mission alert. His heart begins to race in an usually hollow feeling chest.

"What's going on?" He asks, quietly, breaking the silence. The speech he'd prepared has entirely fled his mind.

Adam glances at Chase before replying. "We're leaving," he says, calmly. Donald see's Tasha's lips tighten, and Leo sigh in frustration. Clearly, this is something they've been arguing, but Adam and Chase are determined.

"We're going to meet up with Bree," Chase adds, still quietly, almost gently. Gently breaking Donald's heart. "We're going to start over. We'll still be heroes, go on missions, and everything. Just…" _Just without you._ He doesn't say it, but it's heard nonetheless.

Adam nods. "We're old enough to handle it. It's not that we're not grateful for giving us a start, but it's time for us to go and finish it ourselves. We'll look after each other." He shrugs, slightly regretful expression, probably at the clear hurt of Donald's face. "We have to leave sometime."

Donald finally finds his voice. "Of course, but not like this," he nearly pleads. "I messed up, badly. I know you're angry with me. You have every right to be. I want you to leave because you're ready, not because of something I did. I'll apologize until I'm blue in the face if it'll help, but please, don't leave like this. Wait, even just a couple of days, have Bree come back, and we'll do this right. I can set up a new HQ for you, in a good location, kit it out with everything you'll need. Please. I want to."

Chase exchanges a look with Adam and sighs. "Look, we appreciate it. We really do, and we're thankful for everything you've done for us so far. But we can't stay forever. We can't rely on you forever." He shakes his head, and Donald's heart sinks with a thunk.

"We'll take our mission gear, capsules, just some essentials. Build from the bottom up, like most people have to. And sure, it's going to be hard, but I believe in my team," the mission leader says, with simple faith. "I know it'll make us better. And once we have our own place going, then we'll get in touch."

Donald's heart sinks further, somehow. In those words, he sees a period of time where his children are going to completely cut ties. If he hears from them, it'll either be a request for an emergency bailout, or, _finally,_ a message that means they're okay. He's not sure he can do this, but he sees in Chase's face, in Adam's posture, that they're not going to give in on this.

Donald nods slowly, and they say goodbyes he'll never be ready to say. Tasha, trying valiantly not to cry, insists on sending dinner with them. Donald carefully sneaks a few more pieces of helpful tech into their bags while Leo distracts them by trying to convince them to join him in an online gaming tournament. Then, with a last round of hollow feeling smiles and well wishes, the two are out the door, and are gone.

The house is very, very quiet, and Donald collapses into a chair, wondering where exactly it went so very wrong.

:LR:

Donald Davenport has always reached for the stars. But stars are made of fire, and those who play with fire often get burned. Those who gamble eventually lose it all. And those who fly high often find they have the furthest to fall.

And so Donald falls.


End file.
